“Possibly. Or Dr. Szymanski might, since I don’t study LEDs. But maybe something later about astrophysical thermal radiation.” Then, leaving Rossi to hisScientific Americanarticle and his understandable confusion—there would be gossip in the kitchenette and the cafeteria later today, and he’d skip lunch to avoid it—he strode down the row of bullpen desks.
Dr. Erin Monaghan, read her nameplate. Her cubicle’s walls gleamed blue from the photon output of a large desktop monitor, the pixelated illumination reflecting in her glasses. She was clicking around a series of data exports while typing annotations into the cells. With her headphones on, she was oblivious to his approach, even though he was now close enough to scan her notes: the quantum gravity project. She was analyzing reference material that both of them should be reviewing, together.
She was reviewing his own quantum unit data from the holometer.
She squinted at a data cell, nibbling her lip—and his stomach jolted.Irritation. That was the feeling, wasn’t it? This lurch in his gut was familiar: vertigo, the rapid descent into an argument. The giddiness of watching her eyes flash and her cheeks flush, fighting back against his critiques, challenging him about the quantum field’s theories—and in her very personal attacks, attributing those theories, those flaws, that work, that brilliance to him. Irritating, but also:addictive, electrifying.So he kept stoking the blaze of their conflict, eager for their clashes, for her acknowledgment, for her attention, for her blushes and bitten lips, for—
—for…her.
Oh.
If another extension cord had been nearby, he would’ve gone sprawling.
There wasn’t, so he tripped into empty air.
…oh.
Focused on her monitor rather than his silent, blinding, gravity-defying epiphany—he might’ve fallen fast for Forster, but:how long had he already been falling for Dr. Monaghan?—Erin continued to click through his data, nodding along to her music. He could demand an explanation for why she was analyzing his work, call her out for her egregious breach of research etiquette—like always. But instead… instead,now, he stepped into her cubicle and rested a hand on the back of her chair. To steady himself? An easy explanation. “Um… anything interesting?”
“Ah!”
Startled, she jerked away violently enough to wrench off her headphones and yank their cord from her computer. Indie pop switched to blare from her desktop speakers.
“Damn!” She jabbed at her keyboard, wincing.
“Sorry!” His voice was too loud; she’d muted the music.
“It’s…” Maybe her ears were ringing from the noise. She just shook her head—then glanced down at his hand on her chair. Blotches of color suffused her cheeks. She pivoted around to her monitor again, addressing his data when she said, “It’s fine.Uh—morning.”
“Morning.” Several curious heads popped up over cubicles around the office; he withdrew his fingers. But not far. “Did you… is there anything noteworthy in my exports?”
“Nothing so far.”Click, went her mouse. “It’s not that I don’t trust your review—but I always do preemptive analyses on anything that might end up being collaborative reference material.”
“Why?”
“It ensures that the findings of the later formal analysis have been objectively verified. Especially when the researchers involved are notoriously secretive about their data.” Now her lips gave a tiny quirk.
“Fine.” Office eavesdroppers or no, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning back in, then, from leaning close to the bloom of iris and juniper behind her ear. “You’ll have noticed that the standard deviation for the discrepancy in synchronization between the recombined laser beams is low. Outlier data points are minimal, and most are due to external stressors physically affecting the holometer’s mirrors. Earthquakes or high wind events—”
“—neither of which impacts LIGO’s data collection.” She swung around in her chair, mouth widening into a smirk.
Their knees knocked.
Hard.
“Argh!”
Bent forward over Erin’s desk, Ethan lost his balance and grabbed the back of her seat again. This time, dog hair on his vest brushed up against the zipper of her utility jacket draped over the chair. Static snapped. It leaped from the metal to his hand and Erin’s arm, shocking them together. A hiss escaped her, and—
“No.”
Had he spoken, or had she?
Remembering that first flash of energy between them in the hall.
On Friday, too.
And today,here—now, when they both knew…
